imperfect prose on thursdays: LIGHT

welcome to imperfect prose on thursdays. this week’s prompt is LIGHT. please feel free to link an old or new post. today’s host is imperfect team member Brandee Shafer, with photos by Anjie Kay.

The pastor asked us to choose some verses for the ceremony, and–because I’d conceived you on my twenty-fifth birthday–I chose James 1:17. I requested it read out of King James, where it’s most beautiful.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

This remains myCade verse. Memorize and carry it; break it into pieces-parts if ever things seem dark, if ever you’re in need of a little light. I’ve heard your profession of faith; I’ve witnessed your submersion in the waters of baptism; the steadfast Father of lights belongs to you. He has fixed His gaze upon you. He goes with you into all the spaces I do not.

Those spaces become more all the time, and it won’t be long, now, until you’re grown and gone. A young-man voice calls for Mom and means me, and it jars. I doubt the strength of my heart, sometimes, when I think of your leaving home. But I remind myself: since you were only four, you’ve been leaving home three nights a week and Saturdays.

I’ve been learning to let you go for almost nine years.

And they want me to say I’m sorry for the way it all worked out, but I won’t, because I’m not. If they sent me back to April 1999, I would offer my body to the same husband (the wrong husband) all over again, just to become your mom: the mom of a teenager with his dad’s deep patience and easy forgiveness.

You, My Son, are a gift from the Father of lights, and I’ll never love another person more than I love you. I’ll always be behind you, for you, with you. Lord willing, I’ll go ahead of you, to wait for you, and it will be so bright there: much brighter, My Darling, than even the sun.

every thursday, we gather together to celebrate redemption. here are the details:

1. link up a post (old or new) that relates to this week’s prompt (or to a similar theme)2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog) 3. read other’s prose, and encourage them! so won’t you join us, as we “walk each other home”? (ram dass)

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We mothers have loved well, loved conditionally these sons when we love them despite the letting go – which they start the moment they can walk. That is a true love! Beautiful prayer, Brandee! Your words reflecting the beautiful mother’s heart you have:)

This was beautiful ladies. It touched me deeply, as I have 2 sons. Its a special bond between a mother and son. I don’t know what the difference is, but, it just is. I love my daughter with all my heart too. Her bond seems to be the infamous “daddy’s little girl,” and she is almost 29 yrs old. I look forward to future postings! I’ll be reading….

This touched me in two different ways. As a mom to two little boys, “He goes with you into all the spaces I do not.” – that brings such comfort with sooo much unknown ahead.And as a child of a divorce who wonders if my mom would do it again (even though I know she loves me more than her own life) these words resonated and healed and tapered off my questions, “I would offer my body to the same husband (the wrong husband) all over again, just to become your mom”

Bless you, Amanda, for sharing, especially that second half, which made my eyes well up. Maybe no one can ask his/her own mom…or (if the question is somehow asked) completely believe the answer. I worry, sometimes, that my older son will think himself less adored than his three half-siblings. But he turned me into a mother, and he was my only child for 9 years. God has used him to make beauty from ashes…to help me forgive myself…to wipe away so much of my regret. I feel sure your mom would do it again, also that there are things about you that remind her of your dad in all the best ways. My older son wouldn’t be himself if it weren’t for his dad, and I want my older son just the way he is. God bless. You’re beautiful.

Sweet tribute to your son. Oh, I remember when a man’s voice called for me in my home. I wondered who was in my house? Those early days of manhood are certainly the most interesting days. Thank you for sharing your mother’s love.

It sounds like our son’s are a similar age and I get glimpses of his manhood in his voice, his wise words to this mama that often startle me. It all goes so fast. Your words are so eloquently beautiful. Such a lovely tribute to your son and being a mother.

A young man surrounded by his mother’s love, recognized as a gift from the Father of Lights–this is a young man who is richly blessed. This letting go stuff–I knew about it all along, theoretically. But the reality of it? Hard, hard, stuff. Beautiful piece, my friend.

“A young-man voice calls for Mom and means me, and it jars.” Oh my goodness, how I can relate to that! My son was born in 1999, also, and you spoke my heart here in many ways.And as a child of divorce, myself, I love that you validate your son’s birth and would do it all again.

Oh this mama heart resonated with “I doubt the strength of my heart when I think of you leaving home.” My own boy-man has just begun to learn how to drive. He seems so tall and strong and sure, then his face turns young and vulnerable all in a turn. My fierce mama love and concern for him only is calmed by the certain knowledge that indeed “the steadfast Father of lights belongs to you. He has fixed His gaze upon you. He goes with you into all the spaces I do not.” He loves our boys ever so much more than we do!

Brandee, that’s lovely, and I agree. Our kids are a gift, and often come out of odd circumstances that God makes beautiful. He has in my own life too. And “Father of Lights” — that’s one of my favorite nicknames for God.